


A Lifetime of Love

by Morgana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-05
Packaged: 2018-01-07 16:18:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1121942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at the life of one Sam Winchester, as told from one birthday to another</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Dean was pouting.  
  
He knew it wasn't right. He was a big boy now and shouldn't be sulking in his room, but it wasn't fair! Mommy had finally had the baby, and it was the brother he'd hoped for, and he wasn't going to get to see him for  _two whole days!_  Daddy got to see him every night, but Dean had to stay with Mrs Willis and her stupid cats who were always sticking their butts in his face whenever he sat down to watch TV. So he figured he was entitled to a little bit of pouting.  
  
A knock on the door made him look up to see Daddy leaning against the door frame. "Hey champ, everything okay?"  
  
Dean just scowled at him. Daddy knew very well that everything was not okay, but Dean wasn't going to let him make him feel better, he wasn't! Daddy walked over to kneel down in front of him, squeezing his knee with one hand. "C'mon, now, Deano. You know better than to act like this."  
  
"But it's not fair!" The words burst out of him before he could stop them, and he bit down hard on his lip to try to keep from bawling like a baby.   
  
Daddy sat down next to him. "What's not fair?"  
  
"I can't see Sammy!" Tears slid down his cheeks and he drew in a hitching breath. "I was good like you and Mommy said I had to be and I waited as patiently as I could and now I can't see him!"  
  
"Oh boy," Daddy muttered under his breath as he pulled Dean into his lap. Dean buried his face in Daddy's shirt while one big, warm hand rubbed his back. "Shhhh.... it's okay, kiddo. Sammy's coming home real soon, remember? And then you'll get to see him all the time - probably more than you want. You're gonna be his big brother for the rest of your life, after all."  
  
"But it won't ever be like today!" Dean protested. Sammy wouldn't be brand new by the time he got home, not like he was now. He didn't know how to explain that to Daddy without sounding stupid, so he just burrowed in closer and tried to calm down. "Why can't I see him like you can? I'll be real good if I can go to the hospital with you, I promise!"  
  
Daddy sighed and patted his back. "I wish you could, Dean. But the hospital rules say you have to be older to visit someone." He paused for a second, then asked, "You want me to stay with you? We can order pizza and watch the baseball game."  
  
Dean peeked up at him. He had to admit that pizza and baseball sounded better than going over to Mrs Willis'. "But what about Mommy and Sammy?"  
  
Daddy smiled. "I'll call Mommy and explain. And Sammy's too young to know what he's missing out on. We'll do it again when he's older and he can enjoy it with us."  
  
Dean thought about it for a minute, then nodded. "Okay. And I can tell him about it when he gets home, right?"  
  
"Right." Daddy laughed and set him back on the bed. "I'm gonna go call Mommy and then order the pizza. You want pepperoni?"  
  
"Yeah! And extra cheese and sausage," he added, grinning widely as he thought about getting to spend the night with Daddy. It was almost as good as getting to see Sammy, and the promise of telling him about it later helped. Like Daddy said, he was going to be a big brother for the rest of his life, so he'd have lots of time to talk to Sammy.


	2. Chapter 2

Sammy's happy laugh rang out as Dean scooped him up and spun him around. "It's your birthday today, Sammy! You're two whole years old!"   
  
"You're going to be a lot less happy about it when he throws up all over you because you shook him up like that," their father pointed out.   
  
Dean just shrugged, too used to it by now to be all that grossed out by the prospect. Still, he didn't want Dad to get mad before they got to have Sammy's birthday treat, so he slowed to a stop and hugged Sammy, who wrapped arms and legs around him like a little monkey and squealed, "More, Dean!"   
  
"Dad's right, Sammy," Dean told the toddler, hugging him again to soften the denial. "Besides, you don't wanna get sick on your birthday 'cause then you wouldn't get your present!"   
  
Sammy cocked his head at him, curiosity shining brightly in his eyes. "Present?" he repeated. "Like Chrismuss?"   
  
"Like Christmas," Dad agreed, walking over to tousle first Sammy's and then Dean's hair. "And cupcakes, too - one for each of you."   
  
Sammy squealed right in Dean's ear and bounced hard enough that Dean had to tighten his grip or risk dropping him. He'd discovered cupcakes last fall, when Dean brought one home with him after a classmate's mother brought them to school for her birthday. As soon as Sammy had seen Dean eating it, he'd toddled over and opened his mouth like a baby bird, but Dean had made him say 'Please, Dean' before he'd let him have any. Dean was worried about how little Sammy talked, even though Dad said it was normal and Dean had been the same way at his age. Dean didn't know how to tell Dad that he didn't think that counted, since he'd had Mom to help him and Sammy didn't.   
  
He tried not to talk about Mom too much - whenever he mentioned her Dad got that really sad look in his eyes, the one that always made Dean's stomach hurt. So Dean did the best he could on his own. He could usually get Sammy to talk back to Big Bird when Sesame Street was on, and he talked to Sammy all the time, told him about his day at school and what kind of homework he had, how he was learning to read and how he'd teach Sammy when he got older. Sometimes when Dad was working on the car, Dean even told Sammy secret things, things he wouldn't tell anyone else, like Sarah Eckerson kissing him at recess or how much he wanted a leather jacket like Dad's when he grew up.   
  
"Dean..." Something about the way Sammy said his name made Dean think he'd been trying to get his attention for a while. He shook his head to make the thoughts that had been gathering there go away and smiled at his brother.   
  
"Yeah, Sammy?"   
  
"Do you get a birfday too?" Big hazel eyes stared at him while tiny white teeth sank into the baby curve of Sammy's lower lip. Dean hugged Sammy hard again and opened his mouth to tell him about birthdays, but Dad's laughter cut him off.   
  
"Dean's already had his birthday this year, Sammy," he explained. "After Christmas, when we went out for ice cream, remember?"   
  
His brother scrunched his face up for a second, then shook his head. Dean hugged him again. "It's okay, Sammy," he assured him. "We both get a birthday every year."   
  
Sammy's face split into a big grin. "Every year!" he cheered. "Cupcakes every year!"   
  
Dad laughed again. "Well, I guess we know what's important to you, kiddo," he teased, walking over to lift Sammy out of Dean's arms. He held his free hand out to Dean. "Okay, let's go get those cupcakes, huh?"   
  
"Yeah!" Sammy crowed, flinging his arms around Dad. "Cupcakes, Dean!"   
  
Dean slipped his hand into Dad's and grinned up at Sammy. He had a feeling that as long as there were cupcakes, Sammy wouldn't have too much trouble talking.


	3. Chapter 3

"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Sammy, happy birthday to you!" Dean's tuneless singing drifted into the kitchen from the room the boys were sharing, and John smiled. By his best estimate, Dean was on his thirtieth or so repetition of the birthday song. He probably should've warned Dean that singing to a toddler invariably led to having to repeat the song ad infinitum, but knowing Dean, he wouldn't have believed him until he'd tried it for himself.   
  
John shook his head and flipped the sandwich in the pan. Grilled cheese wasn't much of a birthday supper, but it was one of Sammy's favorites and thank God, it was cheap. Still, he wished he could do better for his boys - they deserved better than the rootless life they'd been living for the past three years. He checked on the tomato soup, slid Sammy's sandwich onto a plate, and set about making a grilled cheese with ham for Dean, humming absently to himself while he waited for the next round of the birthday song to start up.   
  
"Dad!" The spatula clattered to the floor as John took off for the bedroom at a run, his son's cry spurring him to action. "DAD!"   
  
Bursting through the door ready to put himself between his boys and whatever might be threatening them, John was nonplussed to see, instead of the scene of terror and danger that his imagination had conjured up, Dean smiling up at him from where he sat with Sammy on the floor in front of the bed. As though he hadn't just scared his father out of a good ten years of his life, Dean beamed up at him and said, "I taught Sammy to read!"   
  
"Sam I am!" Sammy chimed in, looking up from the battered red book he held with a bright smile. John felt something wrench in his chest at the sight of that smile. It was Mary's smile, shining and open, the smile that had accompanied his proposal and Dean's birth and every other important moment of his life since he'd met her, right up until the fire had taken her away. Now her son looked at him with that same smile, and John knew he'd move heaven and earth to make sure that he never had to bear his mother's pain.   
  
"That's good, Sammy," he told him. "Keep that up and you'll be reading in no time."   
  
"He  _is_  reading!" Dean insisted. "I taught him, Dad - he can read the whole book all by himself."   
  
John sighed and wondered again how Mary had always been able to get through to Dean when he got like this, digging his heels in on an issue. "He's not really reading, Dean. He's got the book memorized." And well he should - ever since Dean had begged him to buy it at the library's used book sale, Sammy had insisted on having it for his bedtime story at least three or four times a week. It was his favorite, probably because there was a Sam in the book, but for whatever reason, they'd read it enough times that John was pretty sure all three of them could recite it forwards, backwards, and upside down by now.   
  
Dean wasn't about to accept his explanation, though. "Sammy can read," he persisted. "Ask him, Dad."   
  
He thought about arguing, then decided it was too much effort. "Sammy? You wanna show me how you can read?"   
  
Sammy nodded and clambered up into his lap as soon as he sat down on the bed. He opened the book again and pointed to the words. "I am Sam," he said. "Sam I am!"   
  
"Good job," John said, before he could get started on the whole book. He turned a few pages, then pointed to a sentence. "Can you read that, Sammy?"   
  
"I would not eat green eggs and ham," he said, following John's finger with careful deliberation. "I do not like them, Sam-I-am!" He turned another bright smile up to him.   
  
Well. So apparently he  _could_  read. John wondered if he needed to look into getting Sammy some kind of tutoring, something to make up for him not being able to go to preschool the way he vaguely remembered Dean doing when he was Sammy's age. Maybe he'd talk to Jim about teaching him, even see about adding a little Latin in as well once he was reading really well. Come to think of it, that might not be a bad idea for Dean as well. John decided he'd have to give Jim a call after the boys had gone to bed.   
  
Right now, though, there was a four-year-old gazing up at him with eager eyes. "That's great, kiddo." John hugged him and eased him out of his lap. "Listen, I need to go finish supper, so why don't you stay here and read to Dean some more? Maybe he'll even sing for you again."   
  
Sam's squeal of glee drowned out Dean's aggravated cry of, "Dad!" and John grinned to himself as he made his escape back to the kitchen, just in time to hear Dean dutifully start singing again. "Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Sammy, happy birthday to you!"


	4. Chapter 4

A heavy weight landed on his stomach, driving all the air out of his lungs with a whoosh. Dean's eyes flew open to see a lopsided grin aimed at him. "I'm six!" Sammy crowed.  
  
"Yeah, I'll say you're sick," he grumbled, shoving him away. "Get off me."  
  
Sammy scooted to the side, but didn't get off the bed. "Not sick, silly. I'm six - it's my birthday today!"  
  
"So you had to wake me up at the asscrack of dawn?"   
  
A torrent of giggles answered him. "You said 'ass'!"  
  
Dean glared at his brother and turned over, pulling the covers up. "Go 'way, Sammy. You can wake me up later, 'kay?"  
  
There was a long pause before a wavering, "Okay," answered him. Dean felt the bed shift under him as Sammy slid back down to the floor. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, doing his best not to think about how the sad little voice that had replaced the jubilant shout in just seconds. But the universe was apparently bound and determined to punish Dean for existing, because when he reached the bedroom door, Sammy muttered, "You said we were gonna watch cartoons."  
  
Shit. He'd forgotten all about the cartoons. Dad usually took them out for pancakes on their birthdays, but Dad was tracking a werewolf and hadn't been able to make it back in time, and Dean had hated seeing Sammy's face so sad when he'd realized Dad wasn't going to be there, so he'd offered to watch cartoons with him even though he usually hated cartoons. They were just so babyish, nothing at all like the real heroes like Dad and the other hunters who were out there risking their lives, but Sammy didn't know about that yet. So Dean did his best not to say too many bad things about Superman around Sammy (even if Batman could've totally taken Superwuss out in, like, three seconds). But cartoons had seemed like a good way to start making it up to Sammy that Dad wasn't there.  
  
At least, they had been before Dean had gone and fucked everything up. Guilt formed an uneasy knot in his stomach, making him swallow hard as he shoved the comforter down and slid out of bed, then went in search of his brother.  
  
He found him huddled in a forlorn little ball on the couch, staring mournfully at the TV, but he wasn't watching cartoons. Instead, there was some kind of program with a guy in a funny hat out in the desert. Dean didn't say anything at first, just went to fill two bowls with the Coco Puffs he'd lifted from the corner grocery store a couple of days ago. He added the last of the milk, then handed one of the bowls to Sammy as he walked over to the couch and took a seat next to him. "So... six, huh?"  
  
"Uh-huh," Sammy mumbled around a mouthful of cereal. "Dad said I can start school next year, 'member? All day, just like you."  
  
"Trust me, Sammy, it's no big deal," Dean assured him. "Teachers always trying to tell you what to do, handing out homework every time you turn around." Not to mention the other kids, who didn't have a clue about what the real world was like. He'd rather hang out with Sammy, and how pathetic was that, anyway, that his six-year-old brother was his best friend?  
  
Sammy just shrugged and took another bite of his cereal, and Dean felt like the world's biggest jerk for making him look like that on his birthday. He looked over at the TV, where the guy was walking around a lot of scattered blocks. It didn't seem all that interesting to him, but Sam's eyes were locked on it like the guy had the answers to all of life's puzzles. "Whatcha watchin'?"  
  
"You wouldn't like it."  
  
"C'mon, Sammy, don't be like that." Dean jostled him a little with his elbow, and just like always, raised his arm as Sammy curled up against his side. 'What is it?"  
  
"They're talking about this tomb they found."  
  
Personally, Dean couldn't have imagined anything less interesting, but he knew better than to say so. "Yeah? Who's 'they'?"  
  
Sammy looked up at him, his eyes getting that intent look they only had when he was trying to figure out if Dean was serious. Finally he said, "A team from the Egyptian Museum in Cairo."  
  
Dean wondered when Egypt had gotten more interesting than cartoons. "So what's in the tomb? A mummy?" That might be kind of cool, fighting a mummy.  
  
"No, the mummy was stolen in an-ti-qui-ty." Sammy pronounced the word carefully, obviously repeating something he'd just heard. "What's that, Dean?"  
  
"A long time ago," he replied, glad that he knew the answer to that even if he didn't know much about mummies. "Since when did you get into all this Egypt stuff, anyway?"  
  
He felt Sammy shrug. "Uncle Bobby had some books and stuff that he let me look at when we were there for Thanksgiving. They were pretty cool."  
  
Dean was willing to bet they weren't nearly as cool as the books Uncle Bobby kept up on the top shelves, the really old ones that had pictures of monsters and descriptions of how to kill them. When Dad got back from his trip, maybe they could take Sammy out to shoot at bottles, now that he was six. Dean hoped so; he wanted to show him all the stuff he'd learned, teach Sammy how to wrestle and shoot and sneak up on monsters just like Dad had taught him. Right now, though, he'd have to pretend they were just like everybody else for a little while longer.  
  
"Yeah, Egypt's cool," he agreed, pleased when Sammy nodded and snuggled a little tighter against him. Dean settled back to watch the rest of the show, although he wasn't really paying attention. All he could think about was how he couldn't wait to show his brother the truth about what Dad did and how he and Uncle Bobby were the real superheroes. He just knew Sammy was going to love hunting as much as he did.


	5. Chapter 5

“I don’t wanna go to Plucky Pennywhistle’s!”  
  
Dean ignored his younger brother’s complaint and tightened his grip on his hand, towing him inexorably closer to the life-size clown statue by the entrance. “Of course you do. It’s your birthday, man. Everybody wants to go to Plucky’s for their birthday. And this is the last one before you're an actual teenager, so you might as well do it up right.”  
  
“De-ean!”  
  
“Sam-my,” he mimicked.  
  
His brother didn’t seem to get the joke. Instead, he yanked his hand out of Dean’s and planted his feet. Dean sighed and turned around, only to see Sam glaring at him like he wanted to set his hair on fire. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Go. To. Plucky. Pennywhistle’s,” he repeated, enunciating every word, as though Dean were either deaf or retarded.  
  
“Well, tough luck, dude.” Dean had a date with Brittany from his history class, and if the pink streaks in her hair and the tattoos on her arm were any indication, she promised to be one freaky chick. You know, in the really,  _really_  good way. And he wasn’t going to miss out on this because it was his bratty little brother’s birthday. Besides, dropping him off at Plucky’s with ten dollars just proved he was the awesomest big brother in the entire world, didn’t it?  
  
Sam crossed his arms. “If it’s my birthday, then we should be doing something  _I_  want to do, right?”  
  
“Depends on what you wanna do.” He could probably pay for a movie, maybe even throw in some popcorn and candy, too.   
  
There was a gleam in the hazel eyes that made him think, not for this first time, that his brother  _had_  to be evil. “I want to go to the museum.”  
  
He groaned. "Not again, man." If it was just the museum, Dean probably wouldn't care. It was cheaper than either the movies or Plucky's, but Sam never wanted to go alone. They'd been to the stupid museum four times in two week, and every time they went, they always had to see -  
  
"I want to go to the Egyptian room."   
  
Great. Mummies again. "Dude, I swear, you need to, like, lay off the Discovery channel," he complained. It seemed like every time he turned around, Sam was watching another stupid documentary about people digging in the dirt for mummies and shit. This fixation with ancient civilizations really had to go - especially now that it was threatening to derail his plans.  
  
Sam's chin was jutting out in a way that pretty much always meant he got his own way. "I want to go to the museum," he repeated. "It's my birthday, and you're supposed to take me where I want to go. Dad said."  
  
"He didn't say anywhere you wanted to go," Dean protested, but already he knew it was a losing battle. Sam probably wouldn't rat him out to Dad (he never did) but he'd give him that  _look_ , the one that always made him feel like he'd crawled out from under a rock just so he could stomp on a puppy's head. And Dad  _had_  given him an extra twenty before he left so he could get Sam a treat for his birthday.  
  
With a sigh, Dean resolved himself to spending the day trudging around deserted hallways staring at boring ass mummies instead of getting into Brittany's pants. He told himself he was the very best big brother ever as he threw an arm around Sam's shoulders and headed back to the car. "Okay, fine. We'll go to the stupid museum. But I'm taking the remote control when we get back home."  
  
"Okay," Sam agreed, which probably meant he was already planning on a way to get around him. "Hey, Dean?'  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Can we get sushi and teriyaki chicken for dinner?"  
  
"What?!?"  
  
Sam looked up at him, his eyes bigger than any human's should be. "Andrew said there's a place he and his mom go for dinner near the museum. It has sushi and teriyaki chicken, and it's really good."  
  
No. No way. Dean opened his mouth to tell him just that and suggest pizza instead, but then he looked down at his brother and the words refused to come out. "Yeah," he sighed. "We'll check it out. No promises, though."  
  
"Thanks, Dean!" Sam threw his arms around his waist and Dean ruffled his hair, then gave him a gentle shove towards the car.  
  
Yep, definitely the very best, awesomest big brother in the history of the universe.


End file.
